


Lasting Injuries

by SML8180



Series: Family Sticks Together Side Stories [1]
Category: Markiplier-fandom, Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Kneecapping, Accidental shooting, Chronic Pain, Gun Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Long Term Injury, Permanent Injury, Poor Gun Safety, Pre-Canon, Thank God For Incognito Mode, gun mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SML8180/pseuds/SML8180
Summary: Damien always has a cane in his hand, and although most don't realize it, the ornate object isn't just for show.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache
Series: Family Sticks Together Side Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632610
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Lasting Injuries

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a way to vent my annoyance at my knee throwing an absolute fit due to an injury I sustained roughly 8 years ago.
> 
> A personal HC of mine is that Damien's cane isn't just for show, he actually needs it. So, after proposing the idea of writing a story as to why he needs his cane, and asking friends on Discord what Damien's injury might have been, a fellow author Doctor_Discord suggested that maybe he was accidentally kneecapped by William.
> 
> This is the result of that conversation and SEVERAL very interesting google searches.

William had told Damien that he had something to show him. He’d told Damien to head outside, and wait for him by the treeline, while he grabbed whatever it was he was going to show off from his room.

Damien hadn’t known what he’d expected, but he  _ knew  _ he wasn’t expecting William to show up and show him a  _ gun _ . It was a brand new revolver, the metal clean and shiny, and Will held it in his hand as if it were meant to be there.

“I got it for my sixteenth birthday the other day!” Will exclaimed, showing off the revolver to his friend. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Damien nodded. He wasn’t exactly a gun person, but he enjoyed seeing his friend so excited. “You  _ do  _ know what you’re doing with that, right?”

“Of course I do! I’ve fired one before, but now I have my own!”

Damien seemed to relax a bit when he learned that Will knew how to handle his new weapon. He’d known it was only a matter of time before he ended up getting a gun, anyways, seeing as he wanted to go into the military some day. Now that his nerves were somewhat calmed, he was curious. “How does it work?”

“It’s simple, really!” Will told him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “This releases the cylinder,” he mused, pulling back the release to let the cylinder swing out. “And you load it like this,” he narrated, loading a round into one of the chambers, before clicking the cylinder back into place. He stepped back a bit, adjusting his grip on the gun as he went. “You look down the sights to find where you’re aiming, pull the hammer back,” Will looked down the sights of the gun.

Damien trusted that Will wasn’t aiming at him. He didn’t think he should move, until it was far too late. The shot rang out across the manor grounds, and the next thing Damien knew, he was on the ground, unsure of really what had happened. Things seemed to slow as Will set the gun down and ran to him, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around Damien’s knee.

“Just, just stay there, I’ll get help,” Will rambled, sounding shaken as he stood, sprinting back to the manor.

While William was gone, Damien started to feel a sort of burning pain radiating through his leg. It was dull at first, but as the moments ticked by, he could feel it getting worse. Will returned with a couple members of the house staff, along with Celine, who quickly knelt beside him, immediately starting to fuss over him.

He didn’t really remember much after that. He remembered Celine and the two adults fussing over him, making sure that he kept calm. They all brought him inside, and he remembered being loaded into an ambulance, with Celine by his side, holding his hand.

A few days later, Damien was feeling a little more himself. He was still confined to his bed in the hospital, but he was awake and alert. That was when he learned that William had shot him in the knee. William was apologizing profusely, saying he hadn’t meant to, it was an accident, he thought he was aiming at the tree.

“Will, calm down,” Damien consoled. “I’ll be alright, there’s no need to worry.”

Damien didn’t realize just how long it would be until he was up and walking again.

He went through three or four operations in an attempt to repair the damage to his left knee. The shot hadn’t been direct; the round had hit more to the side of his kneecap, shattering part of it, but not shattering the entire joint. The doctors did what they could to piece things back together, but there was only so much they could do. After all the operations, Damien had to go through  _ weeks  _ of therapy in order to even take a few steps. He was on crutches for what felt like ages, he wore various braces for years, and used a cane to get around after that.

He did his best to walk unassisted when he could, being the stubborn man he was,  _ especially _ when it came time for his mayoral campaign. He wanted to seem strong, he didn’t want the public to see him relying on a cane, didn’t want them to see him limping.

Will had always been apologetic about what had happened; he almost never had a gun out around Damien after the incident. Damien always reminded him that it was an accident. They were just kids at the time, after all, they didn’t know better. He didn’t hold any grudge against his friend.

He’d never admit to Will’s face just how  _ frustrating _ the lasting toll the injury took on him really was.

There were days where his knee hurt so badly he couldn’t stand. Days where he wouldn’t leave the house because he didn’t want to be seen leaning heavily on a cane with his knee braced. He snapped at doctors, at peers, at his own sister, some days, when the pain and limitations became just too much.

His campaign pushed his limits some days. All the events he went to, the debates, the rallies, and everything else, it all took a toll on his knee. Damien had to be on his feet so much, and he couldn’t just skip out on things; it would make him seem unreliable if he did. He did what he could to stick it out, made as many of the events as he could.

The colder months were a blessing and a curse. The cold often lead to more stiffness in his knee, causing it to be sore more often than not. But, he often wore long coats during colder weather, which he made sure would fall beyond his knees, allowing him to wear one of his braces. It wasn’t his best brace, but it was better than nothing.

It was early spring when the campaign ended, when all Damien could do was wait and hope he’d done enough. He waited inside, his fingers crossed. Justice, a friend from his years in university, was by his side, trying to help calm his anxieties, as well as offering some support to keep Damien’s weight off his injured knee, which was starting to act against the man once again.

Celine rushed in, carrying  _ something  _ behind her back. The results were about to be announced, Damien had to show his face out there, especially if it was him who ended up the victor.

“Celine!” Damien called, as his sister approached. “You said you would be here almost half an hour ago.”

“I know, I know,” Celine stated, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I needed to pick something up.”

“I need to get outside,” Damien told her, already beginning to pull away from Justice. “What did you need to pick up?” he questioned, knowing full well his sister would be following him. He didn’t get an answer, and simply rolled his eyes as he stepped outside, just in time for the man up on the stage to begin reading off the final results in front of him.

It barely registered that it was  _ his _ name being read off.

“Just a little something for you,  _ Mayor  _ Damien,” Celine finally told him, offering a cane to her stunned brother. The object was brand new, and straight as an arrow; the main body a shiny black, with a silver tip and ornate silver topper.

Damien took the cane in his hands, speechless. It felt as if time had stopped, at least until he felt Celine taking hold of his shoulders and turning him around.

“Well, go on! You need to say  _ something _ to them!”

The new mayor took a breath, and stood a little straighter as he scanned the audience. Hundreds,  _ thousands _ of eyes were trained on him. He took a deep breath, and planted the silver tip of the cane on the ground, finding that it felt far more sturdy than his older ones. He took his first steps with it up onto the stage, and felt the wave of energy from the audience wash over him as he walked to the podium with confidence.

They were some of the most confident steps he’d taken since he was fifteen.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark felt fairly decent when he got up in the morning. His shoulders and neck didn’t feel as bad as they had for some time. He felt like today was going to be a good day.

That was until he went to actually get out of bed. His left knee practically gave out on him.

He thought back to that day so many years ago. When Damien had been shot in the knee. That injury had been a part of him for so long. Even though he was no longer in  _ Damien’s  _ body, he could feel the injury all the same.

Dark sighed, looking to the mess of pink hair beside him, still sleeping. Wilford didn’t remember the incident from what he could tell. It was for the best, really. He always claimed that it was simply his chronic pain that occasionally lead to him bracing his knee, or using a cane. He didn’t mention the damage that had been done by a stray bullet.

So, Dark simply braced himself against the wall, going about his usual routine. He showered, did his makeup, got dressed. He was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room when Wil woke up, strapping his brace into place to support his knee.

“One of those days, Darky?” Wil tiredly asked, getting out of bed and approaching his husband, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“Mm-hm. One of those days,” Dark responded, returning his husband’s sleepy kiss.

Wil nodded, and picked up Dark’s cane from the corner. Dark took it from him, running his thumb over the topper for a moment before standing up.

“I’m going to head down to the dining room. I’ll see you at breakfast,” he mused, giving Wilford a final kiss to the cheek before making his way out of the room.

He found an odd comfort in the sound of the silver tip of the cane against the wood floors of the manor. It was a familiar sound, one that Damien had found oddly comforting for years, and one that Dark now found oddly soothing. With the brace on his knee, and the cane in his hand, Dark walked with a surprising confidence, despite the lasting injuries that tried to slow him down.


End file.
